Miki's One Room World

Room 1

A bird's call that had never been heard before made us run up the stairs barefoot. "Quick!" someone shouted. On the edge of the roof, it was sitting with its tail tucked neatly. "Peacock!" Then shushing, and a whisper. "Don't scare it away."

My grandmother told us that peacocks were not commonly seen in the city. A rare bird in the concrete jungle. Looking around, there was a small patch of vegetable fields behind our building, a large forest-like land over the wall of the colony. We were surrounded by nature. It made sense that the peacock would love our home.

Over the years, people who grew crops in the allotted fields grew less and less. That forest was chopped down to a stretch of dry grass. The next time I saw a peacock was inside a sad little enclosure at the zoo. How free was that peacock of my childhood, ignorant of this manmade imprisonment.

After our daily games were done, children from the neighbourhood would opt to sit on the park fence instead of the benches. It was green and chipped, left red marks on thighs and palms where we gripped it. The benches were green too. I had tripped and chipped a front tooth on a bench. My mother also had the same chip in hers. It stayed as it was until a dentist fixed it without asking. I liked showing it to people and telling them of how it came about. It was a flaw, until I realised that some flaws make for exceptional ice-breakers.

For a few years, a pair of siblings visited their grandparents in the summer holidays. Their house was on the ground floor of our building, and it had been the residence of another friend. Such was life in the colony, people retired, or were assigned to other locations. Childhood friendships were like dry leaves in the wind.

We became fast friends with the siblings, playing outside till the sun set, running home together to watch tv shows. Once, we found a plant that came up to my shoulders. It was a little far from my house, so we decided to relocate it. We had no shovels; thus, we used our bare hands. The slightly wet mud clung to our skin. It got under my nails, on my clothes, and left two patches on my knees.

We brought it back and planted it as well as we could behind their house. A few weeks later, the plant had withered and died. But, our thoughts of it had died minutes after we had replanted it. We had moved on to grander adventures.

Sitting on the park fence, we discussed the exciting news circulating in the colony. A snake had been seen slithering in the fields, and it had even snuck inside someone's apartment. We were scared, but more than that we were infected with a strange excitement.

The colony's handyman, who was proficient in all sorts of odd jobs, was called in. He walked up to the group of adults in his usual paint-splattered clothes. They told him of the snake problem and his cheery expression dropped.

We inched closer to the group, wanting to see how the show goes on. He joined his palms together and refused to get rid of the snake. "What if I kill it?" he spoke, "It is the messenger of the I worship. I cannot commit this sin."

So, the handyman left and the snake remained a problem for the adults. It was decided that my grandfather (my mother's father) and another person who we called little grandfather would get rid of the snake.

They took a long pole and marched to where the snake had been seen frequently. That evening, we saw them walking into the park with the snake draped across the pole. We were curious, but did not go too close. I asked them if it was unconscious or dead. They told me it was dead. I felt sad. The sight of the snake, thicker than the trunk of our lemon tree, draped around the long pole in a spiral, was strong enough to make a lasting impression. But, once again, the snake was soon forgotten, left to lurk in the dark corners of my mind.

The park was renovated, new playground equipment was installed. Along with slides, climbers, and swings, there was a curious new attraction. It was a metal hut we had to climb up to and slide down at the front. It was open on all four sides and had benches built into it. It was new and shiny, and it was decided by popular vote that the best way to enjoy it was to jump off its sides.

My friends jumped first, and when it was my turn, I was momentarily frozen. Years later, I went back to that place and everything felt so much smaller. The hut was closer to the ground than I had remembered. I jumped and at landing, I bit my tongue. My mouth was filled with blood, metallic and salty. We ran to a nearby tap and I spit it out over the drain. For the next few days, everything I ate stung. We were told not to jump from high places, but when no adults were looking, we certainly did as we liked.

It was a summer evening when we first saw a curious creature – a mouse of monstrous size, much bigger than the puny ones we were used to seeing. We followed it around until the sun was starting to go down. In that dusky light, it walked to a pile of small rocks and sat there even as we inched closer. We watched for a long time, but it did not budge. Finally, someone rolled a few pebbles in its direction. It sniffed them, then continued to sit there.

Something told me that the giant mouse had died. So, we went back home and told our parents that we had killed it. At first, it was with excitement, but as the years went by, I think of it with uncertainty. We never saw it or the body in that spot again.